


trying hard not to get into trouble

by FreshBrains



Series: Trouble [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, POV Isaac, Teen Wolf Rare Pair November
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-15
Updated: 2013-11-15
Packaged: 2018-01-01 15:15:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1045438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/pseuds/FreshBrains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr. Argent isn’t his daddy.  Isaac is done with daddies.  He’s ready for <i>men</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	trying hard not to get into trouble

Isaac presses his palms to Mr. Argent’s chest and feels his muscles, the kind of muscles that stay hidden under jackets and shirts, the kind of muscles that might surprise people. When their lips finally touch, Mr. Argent goes rigid, arms at his sides, but Isaac can feel an energy buzzing beneath his skin. He can feel that Mr. Argent wants to wrap his arms around Isaac’s waist, he wants to push him down, he wants Isaac to be his.

When Mr. Argent finally kisses back, adds pressure to the almost-chaste press of lips, Isaac can’t help but smile into the kiss.

(Mr. Argent is _teaching_ Isaac; he’s the father Isaac never had. He places a three thousand dollar bow or a military-grade gun in Isaac’s hands and _trusts_ him with it; it makes Isaac’s cock hard in his jeans, it makes him want to get on his knees.)

(Mr. Argent isn’t his daddy. Isaac is done with daddies. He’s ready for _men_.)

“Isaac, no, don’t do that. This isn’t okay.” Mr. Argent is nice about it; he grips Isaac’s forearms and pushes him away gently, he lets go right away. He rubs a hand down his face, scratching down his stubble, and closes his eyes.

Isaac’s lips tingle. This is the first time he’s ever kissed a guy with facial hair. He likes it. He looks up at Mr. Argent—Isaac’s taller than him, but it always feels like he’s looking up at older men, looking through his eyelashes, waiting for their approval. “It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone. You don’t have to feel bad.”

Mr. Argent shakes his head, eyes still closed. He pushes Isaac’s still-roaming hands to his sides but he’s so _gentle_ , so sweet, he knows what Isaac can handle and what makes him shake. “That’s not the point, Isaac. I’m an adult. This _cannot_ happen.”

Warmth spreads through Isaac’s chest, radiating in a flush along his neck and collarbone. He can’t remember the last time his own father ever looked him in the eye and told him neatly and clearly what he wanted, what he expected from Isaac. His father yelled and used threats, he muttered, he remained passive-aggressive before the outright aggression came out in the form of fists and belts. He never held Isaac and made him feel safe. The way Mr. Argent was firm and careful at the same time…it was new ground for Isaac, and he needed to explore it.

(He doesn’t need a father anymore, but he’s been chasing a string of them…he had Derek, he had his brothers who he deferred to in Scott and Boyd, he tried a mother in Mrs. McCall but it never felt right.)

(Mr. Argent isn’t a father, he’s a man.)

(He’s not _Isaac’s_ father, at least.)

“But I want this,” Isaac says, biting his lower lip. He clasps Mr. Argent’s hand in his and lowers it, presses it to the outline of his growing erection in his jeans. “You do this to me. You’re so good to me…and I want to be good to you.”

“You don’t need to do that. You’re a good kid, Isaac…” It isn’t close enough, Isaac wants to hear him say it, he wants to hear _good boy_ fall out of Mr. Argent’s mouth and wash over him, he wants to revel in that praise like the good fucking boy he is.

“But I want to,” Isaac repeats with a little more heat. He rocks back on his heels but he’s asking Mr. Argent with the rest of his body, he can’t help it. His hips cant up, he bites his lip, and he swears he’s not trying but it’s too fucking easy. 

Isaac doesn’t know what comes next, but Mr. Argent isn’t backing up. He isn’t leaving. They’re outside of the apartment buildings next to Mr. Argent’s sleek car; the air is crisp with autumn. But Mr. Argent doesn’t move. He doesn’t close the trunk or grab his keys or tell Isaac to go home.

So Isaac leans in and kisses him again. He puts everything into that kiss, all of the tricks he learned from boys his age—how to curl his tongue, what to do with his teeth, where to put his hands. He’s sloppy with it, wrapping his arms around Mr. Argent’s neck like a boy at a drive-in movie, and Isaac can feel the exact moment when Mr. Argent’s resolve breaks.

He presses Isaac up against the SUV, holds him there by the hips. “You’re asking for trouble,” he says, burying his face in Isaac’s neck. 

Isaac shivers at the burn his stubble leaves and runs his hands down Mr. Argent’s shoulders. “Am I getting it?”

Mr. Argent closes his eyes and he looks like he’s in so much agony that Isaac almost pauses, but in a split second, the smell of arousal fills the air, hot and thick and at its perfect peak. Mr. Argent yanks Isaac in by his belt loops and nips at his bottom lip. “Only if you want it.”

Isaac smiles, arching into Mr. Argent’s firm thigh, looking for something to rut against like a wolf in heat. “I already told you. I want—“

Isaac doesn’t finish, because Mr. Argent seals his mouth over Isaac’s and kisses him until they’re both out of breath, kisses him until their lips are sore and they’re gasping for air. Isaac lets his hands wander up down Mr. Argent’s leather jacket, feels that strong material warm and worn under his palms and smells his spicy cologne, and he feels so safe and _so_ turned on it hurts.

“I want to ruin you,” Mr. Argent growls into Isaac’s neck, hand wrapping around Isaac’s thigh to hitch his leg up higher, get him to grind harder. “I want to make a mess out of you, you little fucking tease, you drive me insane…”

(Isaac marvels at how well Mr. Argent hid it all that time—the glances Isaac gave him, the lingering touches, the tight clothes. It took less than ten minutes to turn Mr. Argent into an animal, he was a sheep caught in the wolf's jaws.)

“I’ll be good for you,” Isaac murmurs, face flushed hair mussed. “I’ll be so good for you, Mr. Argent.”

Mr. Argent pulls back for a moment, lips shiny and wet, eyes glazed with lust. He reaches up and tries to smooth Isaac’s hair, he presses his palm to Isaac’s cheek. “You’re such a good kid, Isaac.” And then he kisses him again, shamelessly, with while whole body. “You’re such a good boy.”

Isaac winds his hands in Mr. Argent’s hair and comes in his jeans, back arched, mouth open in a wide O of surprise. It hits him like a hurricane, hot and fast and achingly dirty, and Mr. Argent reaches down to unbuckle his own belt.

“I can suck you off,” Isaac says breathlessly, his body warm and gooey. He drops straight to his knees, jeans wet in the dirt, toes jammed into the earth as he looks up at Mr. Argent. “You’ll be my first.” That’s a lie.

Mr. Argent groans and looks up to the sky like he’s asking for one final heavenly admonition for what he’s doing. When he doesn’t get one, he unbuckles his belt, and places a hand on the nape of Isaac’s neck.

Isaac smiles, and goes for the button on Mr. Argent’s jeans. 

Good boys always win.


End file.
